


Five of Cups

by FalsettoFetish



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: F/M, Fix-It, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Pre-The Raven King, Questionable Explanations of Magic, SaveGansey2K16, Temporary Character Death, The Healing Power of Cuddles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-21
Updated: 2016-04-21
Packaged: 2018-06-03 12:58:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6611473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FalsettoFetish/pseuds/FalsettoFetish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ronan dreams Gansey's funeral. There won't be a body at the real funeral tomorrow, of course, but in Ronan’s dream, Gansey is laid out like the kings of old. He looks ageless, regal, and so, so still. Ronan wakes up with a mouthful of dirt.</p>
<p>This is a preemptive fix-it fic, which I'm posting now assuming I won't need to in a week, because <i>you wouldn't do me like that, right Stiefvater</i>? It contains approximately canon levels of violence, the healing power of group cuddles, and absolutely no TRK spoilers. #savegansey2k16</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five of Cups

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [lanilaniduck](http://archiveofourown.org/users/LaniLaniDuck/pseuds/LaniLaniDuck) and [queerlesamis](http://queerlesamis.tumblr.com/) for speed-betaing so I could get this posted before TRK comes out

Ronan dreams Gansey's funeral. There won't be a body at the real funeral tomorrow, of course, but in Ronan’s dream, Gansey is laid out like the kings of old. He's wearing a suit of armor and a crown, and his arms are crossed on his chest, one hand holding a goblet and the other a sword. He looks ageless, regal, and so, so still.

Gansey's parents look pale and broken; Helen looks angry. Adam is somber in his black suit. Blue is wearing a black dress that somehow manages to be asymmetrical and floaty while still feeling appropriately funereal. It seems like something she would wear, but Ronan knows it isn't real; she wore green to Noah's funeral. She's crying, lots of people are, but there is no sound.

When they lower Gansey into the ground, Ronan tries to throw himself in after him, but Adam and Blue grab his arms. No matter how he struggles, they remain silent, and their grips remain implacable. He finally gives in and sinks to his knees on the ground beside the grave.

A handful of dirt drops onto Gansey's body, and another. Ronan looks up and sees that it's falling from the sky, handfuls of earth raining down. He sees other mourners looking up at the falling dirt, but no one moves away. It will fill in Gansey's grave, and then, slowly, it will bury the rest of them alive.

Ronan wakes up with a black dress in his hands, finger-shaped bruises on his biceps, and a mouth full of dirt.

 

Adam, Blue, and Ronan are driving up to DC together for the funeral. At least, that's what they think when they arrive at Monmouth that morning.

He shoves the bundle of fabric into Blue’s hands.

“What's this?” she asks.

“I dreamt that you wore it today,” he says casually.

“And what, precisely,” Blue says archly, “were the circumstances under which you undressed dream-me?”

This startles a laugh out of Ronan, the first one in what feels like a lifetime. Blue relents and smiles back at him.

“I think you'll like it,” Ronan prompts. Blue looks self-consciously down at her dress. It's in the same vein as the one she wore to Noah's funeral, navy blue this time, but with black lace tacked down overtop. He wonders what color she'll wear to his funeral. She takes the dress and goes into Noah's room to change.

Adam and Ronan don't speak while Blue is in the other room, just stand there and stare at each other. Neither of them can decide if they ought to blame themselves or each other more, and Ronan wonders if they'll ever be able to cross that gulf. He wants to.

Adam looks more comfortable in a suit than the last time Ronan saw him wear one. Not that he looks comfortable; his face could be carved of stone. But he stands straighter, and his shoulders fill out the fabric of the jacket better. Maybe it's being more comfortable with his power as the Magician; maybe it's just being more comfortable being Adam Parrish.

Adam opens his mouth as if to say something, then closes it again and shakes his head. He slowly reaches out and claps a hand to Ronan's shoulder. The door to Noah's room opens, and Adam jumps back guiltily. Blue's eyes flick sharply from Adam to Ronan, but all she says is a quiet “thanks.” Ronan just nods.

“Well, we'd better get going,” she says, smoothing down the front of the dress.

“You two have fun,” Ronan says lightly.

“No.” Adam’s eyes are steely. “You aren't doing this. Not today.”

“You're right. I'm not _doing this._ ”

“Don't be an asshole,” Blue interjects.

“You were his _best friend_ ,” Adam growls. “You can't skip his fucking funeral.”

“I already went,” Ronan snaps.

“We're gonna be late if we don't leave soon,” Blue says.

“You can take the BMW,” Ronan tosses Adam the keys.

Adam tosses them back. “I don't need your fucking pity or your fucking car.” He storms out. Blue scoops up the keys and then follows Adam out, shooting Ronan a complicated glance over her shoulder as she leaves.

He hears the grumble of the Hondoyota’s engine and wonders if Blue actually wanted to take the BMW or just wanted to prevent him from taking it anywhere. Of course, if he really wants to, he can just dream himself up a new set of keys. Or he could have a week ago. No matter. He's not planning on leaving Monmouth today.

He Godzillas his way through the miniature Henrietta, stomping and smashing indiscriminately, Chainsaw’s _kerahs_ an anxious counterpoint to the crunch of steel-toed boots through cardboard. He ends up on his knees in what used to be Main Street, tearing the buildings apart with his hands. Crafted with so much care, they can still be destroyed in moments. A tear splashes onto Ronan’s hand, another hits a paper roof, and ink runs down the cardboard walls. Ronan scoops up armfuls of debris, the product of Gansey’s insomnia and Ronan’s grief, and throws them out the window, then gathers them in the lot and burns them. Maybe he's half-hoping the police will get called again, but it's not as big as his last bonfire, and cardboard and glue burn out fast.

 

In his dream, Cabeswater is restless, and Orphan Girl is afraid. She refuses to come out from between the trees. A night horror swoops out of the sky and lands in front of him, then another and another, surrounding him.

“I'm not afraid of you!” Ronan shouts. “You can't hurt me anymore!”

_Wrong,_ the trees whisper, and the horrors’ cawing sounds like laughter.

He wakes up covered in blood. He doesn't think any of it is his own, but there's _so much_ of it. Scattered across and around him, stuck to his skin with blood, are hundreds of black feathers. He stands under the shower head long after the water turns cold, watching blood and feathers swirl down the industrial drain.

He thinks about burning the blood-soaked mattress and just dreaming a new one, but that’s not something he could explain away if someone did end up calling the police. Instead, he goes to a hardware store and buys a gallon of bleach and a padlock.

“You know, I could just blow that off if Blue wanted to get in,” Noah says while Ronan installs the lock on Monmouth’s front door, “and Adam could probably magic it off.”

“I know.”

“So why are you locking it if you know they can get in anyway?”

“They won't.”

Blue still has Ronan’s keys, but it turns out not to matter. If a dream car can run with no engine, he shouldn't be surprised that this one doesn't need a key. He drives too fast, careening around the switchbacks to the Barns. He spends the day going through boxes of a dead man’s possessions, wondrous dream objects and useless crap thrown together carelessly.

Adam calls him 17 times, which seems aggressive since he knows how Ronan feels about phones. _Just pick up,_ Ronan thinks, but he can't handle being yelled at today, not by Adam. Maybe Adam isn't calling to yell at him. Maybe he just wants to talk. Maybe he's calling to invite Ronan out for coffee. Maybe Gansey isn't really dead and this whole week has just been a nightmare. Ronan can always tell when he's dreaming. He throws the phone in his glovebox and falls asleep on the floor of a barn, next to a sleeping cow.

He dreams that he's in Cabeswater, Cabeswater as it appeared the last time he was there. Gansey is on the path ahead of him, gesturing for him to keep up. He chases after Gansey, but he never manages to catch up. Neither of them sees the hornets’ nest until it's too late. By the time Ronan gets to him, Gansey is already crawling with hornets, and he's already stopped breathing. Ronan wakes up with a dozen hornets crawling on his skin, and stings on his hands where he tried to brush them away from Gansey's body.

 

Back at Monmouth, he finds that Blue has shoved his car keys and a pissed-off note under the locked door. He almost smiles; it's nice to know that Gansey's loss has left at least one of them essentially intact.

Both of his homes are too full of memories, so full of the presence of dead men that there isn't room for Ronan, so he spends most of the day driving around in the BMW. He wishes Kavinsky were still alive. He thinks about picking a fight with Declan. He drives past St. Agnes and the factory where Adam works, but he doesn't stop.

As the sun begins to set, he uses one of Kavinsky’s fake IDs to buy the largest bottle of whiskey he can find. He lies on the hood of the BMW in the Monmouth parking lot and drinks from the bottle until the world goes blurry. While he fumbles with the stupid padlock on the door, Noah appears. He’s solid enough to help Ronan up the stairs, but halfway to his room, Ronan's arm goes through a suddenly insubstantial shoulder. “I miss Blue,” Noah says apologetically, and then he disappears entirely. Ronan sways on his feet, then decides this is as good a place to pass out as any.

He doesn't remember his dreams that night, but he wakes up with deep cuts across his palms, as if he tried to stop the blade of a swinging sword before it reached his head, or someone else's. He tears the cleanest t-shirt he can find into strips to use as bandages, and winces every time he opens his hands and the flesh pulls open.

He goes out and buys four six-packs of energy drinks, and doesn't sleep that night. Nights blur into days, Monmouth and the Barns. He lies in bed, staring at the ceiling of his childhood bedroom while angry electronic music blasts out of his headphones, keeping him just this side of awake.

 

He goes to church on Sunday because Matthew is expecting him. Declan won't meet his eye, but he looks contrite. He briefly squeezes Ronan’s arm when he walks past him to get into the pew. Matthew wraps him in a hug, then leaves his arm around Ronan's shoulders during mass. The communion wafer tastes like ash in his mouth, and when the rest of the congregation says their amens and returns to their pews, he stays on his knees.

Ronan was half-expecting Adam, but it's Blue who ambushes him outside after mass.

“You're coming over for dinner tonight,” she says.

“Of the two of us, Maggot,” he drawls, “which is the boss of me?”

“Me.” Her tone brooks no argument. He bares his teeth at her in something that is not a smile, but he allows her to put her bike in his trunk and drives them to 300 Fox Way.

Maura envelops him in a hug as soon as he walks in the door. It's a very mom hug; she pulls his head down onto her shoulder and rubs his back, and he finds his eyes getting damp. When she lets go and takes a step back, Calla looks him up and down disdainfully and says, “When was the last time you slept?”

Ronan thinks back. “Tuesday?”

“That's what I thought,” Calla says triumphantly. “Come on, I'm sure Maura's got something in here that'll knock you out.” She heads into the kitchen and starts shuffling through jars of herbs.

“I _can't_ sleep,” Ronan grits out. “I keep having… nightmares.” He's ashamed to admit it. It's like everything he learned from Kavinsky, everything he figured out after, is just gone. Without Gansey, he's nothing but a ticking time bomb.

“Come on,” Blue says, ignoring Calla.

“Where are we going?”

“We're refinishing the floor in the attic.”

He raises his eyebrows at this, but apparently she isn't joking. He feels like he should protest Blue roping him into doing manual labor, but with nothing better to do, he follows her up two creaky flights of stairs.

Blue really wasn't joking about refinishing the attic floor. There's an area around the trapdoor to the stairs where the wood is a few shades lighter than the rest of the floor. Looming shapes in the corners are tarp-covered furniture, and there are mounds of swept-up sawdust and a giant stack of sandpaper.

“We're refinishing the floor _by hand?"_ He glares at Blue, but she is long since immune to Ronan's glares.

“Dream me a power sander, rich boy,” she retorts.

Ronan grunts, then follows her to his hands and knees and picks up a strip of sandpaper. At least this way he doesn't have to hunch over to avoid hitting his head on the ceiling.

They spend a few hours that way, not talking - what could they possibly talk about? - but Ronan loses himself in the rhythm of sandpaper on wood, and it gets him out of his head for a little while. At one point, Blue swears when she catches her finger on a splinter.

“Language, Sargent!” Ronan admonishes, delighted.

“Fuck off, Lynch,” Blue shoots back, muffled around the bleeding finger she's stuck in her mouth. Ronan laughs, then immediately feels guilty about it.

Orla calls them down for dinner. She sounds annoyed, but she's waiting for them at the bottom of the stairs, looking at Ronan speculatively. Blue narrows her eyes at Orla, then smacks a sawdust handprint onto Ronan's ass.

Dinner is unbearable. Blue’s whole family talks too much, too obviously desperate to fill the silence since none of them really knows what to say, hasn't since Gansey. It's painful to watch, and Ronan suddenly feels acutely sorry for Blue. Having this many people trying to be nice to you might be worse than being alone. No wonder she started refinishing the attic. He stays because he doesn't want to be rude to Blue, and because once he starts eating, he realizes how ravenous he is. It's not like Gansey made sure he ate or anything, but he hasn't really been consuming anything that doesn't contain alcohol or caffeine.

Blue takes their dishes to the sink, and her mother hands her a backpack and a thermos.

“Give me your keys,” Blue says to Ronan. “I'm taking you home.”

“I can take myself home.”

“You haven't slept since Tuesday,” Blue says acerbically. “It's not safe for you to drive.”

“Do you even know how to drive a stick?” Ronan asks.

There's a defiant tilt to Blue's chin. “Gansey taught me.” It's the first time either of them has said his name. Ronan hands her the keys. She grinds the gears a little shifting into third, but they make it back to Monmouth in one piece.

Adam is waiting for them in the parking lot, leaning casually against the hood of the Hondoyota. Blue must have had someone call him while they were in the attic. Hell, maybe they planned this, whatever this is.

Ronan unlocks the door, and Blue and Adam follow him up the stairs in silence. When he opens the door to the main room, Blue says, “Ronan!” shocked and angry. He tries to look at the room as if he’s seeing it for the first time since the day of the funeral. It’s pretty bad. There are ley line maps half torn off the walls, the chaos of the crushed miniature Henrietta, Gansey’s Glendower journal lying open on the floor. He had thrown it against the wall, but couldn’t bring himself to burn it, so he just left it where it fell.

“Jesus,” Adam says, but he sounds resigned instead of angry. Ronan wants to punch him for it.

They walk gingerly inside. Adam picks up Gansey’s journal and sets it gently on his desk. A leaf falls off of Gansey’s wilting mint plant when his elbow brushes it, and Blue chokes back a sob.

“I appreciate the ride and everything,” Ronan says, “but what are you doing here?”

Blue turns to glare at him, unshed tears glistening in her eyes. She finally says, “My nightmares aren’t as bad when I’m not alone.”

It takes Ronan a moment to process what she’s suggesting, and then he says, “Oh, no. Absolutely not.”

“But -”

“I promise you, my nightmares are worse than yours.”

“We can take care of ourselves,” Adam says, and his words carry the weight of all they are, all they have become. Blue’s strange mirror magic, and an image of Adam standing unharmed in a circle of broken stone.

“Fine,” Ronan relents. He feels like he should argue more, but he’s just so tired. Adam half-smiles at him and he thinks maybe it’s worth it after all.

“What do we do first?” Adam asks Blue.

“First we deal with this mess,” Blue says decisively.

They start by sweeping the remains of Henrietta into a corner. Then they drag Gansey’s and Noah’s mattresses off their frames and put them together on the floor. Blue’s backpack turns out to contain mostly blankets, which she spreads out over the combined beds. The thermos contains a truly disgusting herbal tea, which she orders Ronan to drink all of.

She lies down and pulls a blanket up over herself. Noah appears behind her, curled against her back. She shivers but doesn’t move away, and Ronan is surprised by a sudden flash of jealousy, that while he’s been trying desperately not to fall asleep, Noah has been chasing off Blue’s nightmares.

Blue pats the mattress, and Ronan reluctantly lies down next to her. She immediately snuggles up next to him, slings an arm across his chest, and rests her head on his shoulder. Noah’s fingers are cold through the fabric of Ronan’s t-shirt, where they are pressed between Blue’s stomach and Ronan’s ribs. Adam awkwardly lies down on Ronan’s other side, and hesitantly hooks his ankle over Ronan’s.

Ronan isn’t sure he’ll be able to sleep, too worried that he’ll bring something back that will hurt them, but the slow, rhythmic breathing on either side of him is soothing, and soon he drifts off.

 

He dreams they're in the Pig, the five of them.  Gansey is driving, Ronan in the passenger’s seat. The Murder Squash song comes on, and Ronan turns the volume up. Noah starts singing along, bouncing a little in his seat, and Ronan joins him. Adam can't stop laughing. Gansey meets Blue’s eyes in the rear view mirror and shakes his head, but he's smiling, and Blue laughs.

It feels right; it feels real, like he could grab hold of the moment and take it back with him. Happiness: a perfect copy.

 

Ronan wakes up slowly, feeling light, before memory returns and with it, the crushing weight of loss. Still, Blue was right about the nightmares. He turns to tell her so, or to thank her, or to say something flippant, he isn't sure which, but the head pillowed on his shoulder isn't Blue's.

He gives a wordless shout and scrambles backwards off the mattress.

_Oh no. No no no._ This is worse than any night terror. This is… Ronan doesn't want to be responsible for his friends waking up in bed with a corpse.

“The hell, Lynch?” mumbles a sleep-laden voice. “Some of us are trying to sleep.”

There is a moment of silence as Blue and Adam come fully awake, then Adam’s voice, full of pain and longing, croaks _"Gansey?"_

“Yeah?”

Adam and Blue are sitting up, bleary-eyed, and staring at Gansey sitting on the mattress between them.

“Wait,” Gansey looks between them, “how did I get here?”

“I dreamt you,” Ronan snarls. Adam’s stare snaps to Ronan.

“Where was I before?” Gansey asks.

Ronan wonders which of them will break first. It certainly isn't going to be him. “You were dead,” comes Noah's voice. The papers on the desk and the remains of miniature Henrietta begin to flutter.

“Noah,” pleads Blue. The rustling increases and then cuts off abruptly. Noah doesn't reappear.

“How?” Gansey finally asks. He's wearing his most Richard Gansey III face, which probably means he's panicking just beneath the surface.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Adam says tensely.

“Driving to Cabeswater,” Gansey replies. “I take it something happened? Unless it was a car crash?” He's aiming for lighthearted, but he misses it by miles. Adam just shakes his head. “Wait,” Gansey says, eyes lighting up, “did we find him? Did we find Glendower?”

“Yeah, we fucking found him,” Ronan spits. “A lot of goddamn good it did us.”

“Ronan,” Gansey chides.

Ronan shoves himself up, stalks across to his bedroom door, and slams his fist into the wall. Gansey watches him but doesn't get up to follow. Ronan stands there, shoulders heaving, blood dripping down his knuckles and onto the bricks.

_“Please,"_  Gansey begs, and Adam haltingly tells him the story of what happened the last time they went to Cabeswater. Ronan tunes him out, and thinks about dreamers, and dreams.

He thinks about Matthew, who loves so easily and smiles at strangers and sits next to him every week in church, and he can't believe that Matthew doesn't have a soul. But Matthew was always a dream creature, and Gansey was already a person. Wherever his soul ended up, Ronan doesn't think being the Greywaren gives him access.

He thinks about Prokopenko crashing when Kavinsky died. _Non mortem, somni fratrem._ He thinks about a line of identical Mitsubishis, except one had one long headlight stretching all the way across the front, and one had a dragon instead of a knife emblazoned on the side, and one had no windows or doors. He thinks about the Pig, which he had known so well and still brought back too perfect and missing its engine. He looks over at Gansey, who is calmly listening to the tale of his own untimely death, and throws up.

All three of them turn to look at him.

“Are you okay?” Gansey asks.

“You're not Gansey,” Ronan rasps in response.

“What do you mean he's not Gansey?” Blue demands. Her hand comes up unconsciously and circles Gansey's wrist.

“I mean,” Ronan snarls, “even the Greywaren can't raise the dead.” He'd wanted to, when his father died, wanted it desperately. He'd spent countless hours just praying for it not to be true. But back then, when his nightmares escaped his head, they'd only come with claws and feathers.

“You think he's just a copy?” Adams voice is full of revulsion. Something flickers in not-Gansey's eyes. Anger or fear? Ronan feels like he should be able to tell. After all, this is Gansey as Ronan imagines him.

“You should go,” Ronan addresses Adam and Blue. “I'll take care of it.”

“You'll _take care of it?”_ Blue's eyebrows are nearly at her hairline, and her voice is ice.

“Like hell you will!” Adam steps in front of Gansey.

“It's my responsibility!” Ronan shouts.

“Not like that it's not,” Adam says. His voice is fierce but his eyes are pleading.

Gansey raises his hand. “Do I get a say in this?” All three of them turn to him, instinct telling them to follow Gansey, even if this isn't really him. “If I'm not really...me,” Gansey says, “I think I'd like to know.” He turns to Blue. “Would Calla be able to tell?”

Blue sucks in her lower lip. “Maybe.”

“Okay,” Gansey addresses all of them, placating. “We go to Fox Way, see if they can tell us anything, decide our next move when we have more information. Does that work for everyone?”

Ronan huffs out an agreement. At least that part he got right: Gansey, the consummate researcher.

“You're taking this awfully well,” Adam murmurs to Gansey as they head down the stairs.

“It's a lot to take in.”

By silent agreement, Adam drives. His hands are white-knuckled on the steering wheel. Ronan stares out the passenger-side window, picking at his bracelets and the scabs on his hands. In the backseat, Gansey and Blue are silent but pressed together from shoulder to ankle.

It's a silent and heavy procession up the steps of Fox Way. Blue calls out, “Mom?” and Maura and Calla both appear in the front hallway, then freeze.

“Hey,” Gansey raises a hand in greeting, grimacing slightly. The psychics just stare.

_“How?”_ Maura finally demands.

“Ronan,” Blue says. Maura's eyes widen. Blue turns to Calla, “We need you to tell us if it's really him.” Calla inhales sharply.

“Can you do it?” Adam asks.

“Won't know until I try,” Calla says, and reaches out, then pauses, hand hovering a few inches away from the side of Gansey's face. Gansey nods, and Calla touches his cheek. She hisses in a breath, and her eyes flutter closed. A muscle twitches in her jaw.

After a lifetime, she pulls away and slowly opens her eyes. “It's him.”

“If it's really him,” Ronan accuses, “why do you look so freaked out?”

“He's been touched by Death,” Calla snaps. _"He_ may not remember it, but it isn't exactly pleasant for the rest of us.”

Ronan lets out a deep breath. She sounds like she's telling the truth.

“We could do a reading, if you want,” Maura offers. Gansey shrugs, Ronan nods, and they all head into the reading room.

Calla and Maura sit on one side of the long table, Gansey and Blue on the other. Blue still hasn't let go of Gansey's wrist. Adam hesitates, then sits down next to Maura and pulls out Persephone’s old tarot deck. Ronan paces, chewing on his leather bracelets.

Gansey cuts three decks, and three pairs of hands begin to quietly lay out cards. There's so much tension in the room Ronan thinks he might explode. He turns back to the table when he hears Blue's sharp intake of breath. Ronan doesn't know much about tarot, but he looks at the cards and slowly realizes what made Blue gasp; all three spreads are exactly identical.

The psychics shift things around, murmuring to themselves and each other. Occasionally they point things out, “the World - fulfillment” “the Fool - rebirth.” There is the Page of Cups in triplicate, wearing Blue's face and spilling over with potential. The Death card is notably absent.

Finally Adam looks up from his cards. “It's really him,” he says in wonder. There are tears in his eyes. Blue throws her arms around Gansey and buries her face in his chest. His arms, when they come up around her, are shaking. Ronan sinks into a chair and buries his face into his hands.

“You're in shock,” Maura says gently but decisively. “Come on, I'll make you some tea.”

“Or maybe something stronger,” Calla murmurs, and they lead the way into the kitchen.

Ronan only realizes he's not alone in the reading room when a hand touches his shoulder. He looks up through his fingers at Adam’s tear-stained face.

“Hey,” Adam says quietly. He's unashamed of his tears, so Ronan slowly uncovers his face.

“I'm still not sure I believe it,” Ronan says.

“It's real,” Adam says definitively. “It's him.”

Ronan raises a sardonic eyebrow. “You wouldn't lie to me to protect him?”

Adam considers the question, then shakes his head slowly. “No, I don't think I would.”

Ronan lets his head fall back into his hands. “I almost killed him,” he whispers.

“But you didn't,” Adam says.

Ronan looks up at him. “But I _would have."_

Adam gets down on his knees so he's eye-level with Ronan. He pries Ronan's clenched hands open and holds them gently. “But you _didn't."_

“So, what, it doesn't matter because you stopped me?” Ronan demands.

“Maybe.”

“So you'll always be there to stop me before I…” Ronan trails off.

“Yes,” Adam says, and kisses him.

When they pull apart, Ronan splutters, “What?”

Adam says, “He’ll forgive you.”

Ronan says, “What the hell just happened?” and Adam kisses him again.

They only break apart when a voice from the doorway says, _"Well!"_ It's Calla, looking smug, and behind her stand Blue, mouth hanging open but slowly turning into a smile, and Gansey, eyebrows raised.

“We came to check on you,” Gansey says. “I guess you're okay.”

Adam blushes but doesn't look away from Gansey or let go of Ronan's hand. Gansey gives him a minuscule nod.

“Anyway,” Gansey continues lightly, “I just got off the phone with my parents-”

“God,” Adam breathes.

“Yeah,” Gansey grimaces. “Well. They're sending a car. I convinced them they're in too much shock to drive.”

“Shit,” Ronan says fervently.

“What are you gonna tell them?” Adam asks.

“I guess I have a couple hours to figure that out.”

 

Gansey spends three weeks at his parents’ house in Virginia. He talks to Blue or Adam almost every night. His parents only grant permission to return to Henrietta after securing his promise to call every day and never go spelunking again.

He drives the Suburban back to Henrietta, mourning the loss of the Pig. His heart beats _home, home, home_ in time with the rumble of the too-quiet engine, and he hovers just above the speed limit the whole way home.

 

When he returns to Monmouth, it's full of _dreams_ . Glowing, pulsing, shifting.  Beautiful and terrible and unfathomable. _You marvelous creature._ Gansey stops and peers at one sitting on his desk, or hovering just above it, until his eyes water and he has to blink away afterimages. “Lynch!” he calls.

Ronan comes out of his room, headphones around his neck blaring music faintly.

“What is all this?” Gansey asks with a bemused smile.

“They're dreams,” Ronan says. His voice is a warning. Ronan Lynch never lies, but he's weighing how much of the truth to tell. Gansey knows how this game is played, and he meets Ronan's stare with a neutral expression.

“I almost killed you,” he says. He waits for Gansey to react, but he just nods. Ronan swallows. “I never want that to happen again.”

Gansey's face crumples then, full of compassion and concern. “I'm sorry,” he says.

_“You’re_ sorry? What the hell for?” Ronan chokes out.

“Dying?”

“Yeah, well,” Ronan coughs. “Don't do it again. I'm not sure my powers of resurrection are up to it.”

“I won't,” Gansey says fervently.

“I don't know,” Ronan says slyly, “have you tried kissing Blue yet?”

Gansey's mouth quirks up involuntarily, cheeks turning pink. “Yeah.”

Ronan smirks and shakes his head once, then holds up a fist for Gansey to bump.

  


Gansey wants to go back to Cabeswater, to “see if anything’s changed.” Ronan thinks it's more than that, but he's not going to call Gansey on it. The memory of the last time they were all in Cabeswater fills Ronan's stomach with sick, black dread, but Gansey will not be dissuaded, and letting him go alone is out of the question.

The next Sunday finds the four of them walking from late spring into high summer between the trees. Gansey breathes a sigh of relief when the forest is still there, still distorting time, but everyone grows more tense the deeper they go. Adam walks a step ahead of Gansey, wary, and Blue squeezes Gansey’s hand tighter and tighter.

When they reach the Cave of Ravens, Glendower’s cave, it's just… gone. There's no cave, no rock face, no hole in the ground. Just a pool full of impossible fish.

“Look,” Blue says, pointing. It's the vision tree, solid and whole, as if there had never been a gap big enough to stand in.

The others are staring around in shock, but Gansey is laughing. “Cabeswater!” He throws out his arms. “Gratias tibi ago!”

_“Salve, Rex Corvus,”_ the leaves whisper back.

  


“I still don't understand _how,”_ Ronan complains.

The five of them are lying on the ground in a clearing in Cabeswater. It's not the clearing the cave was in, but it's not far. It's June in Henrietta, but Cabeswater is giving them early fall, all decked out in glorious gold.

“Maybe because I died _in_ Cabeswater, Cabeswater could give me back.” Gansey stopped stumbling over the phrase _I died_ a long time ago. “You know, like in Buffy. You can only bring someone back from a mystical death.” He gets four stares, three disbelieving and one delighted. “What? It was a great show! And it's as good a theory as any.”

“Maybe,” Adam says, “it was the three of us. The Greywaren needs the Magician and the Mirror to…” he waves his hands in the universal sign for “magic.”

“Maybe it was Glendower,” Blue says. “Maybe we did get the favor.”

“What a shitty fuckin favor,” Ronan says. “Why couldn't he have just kept him from dying in the first place.”

“But then he wouldn't be all shiny and reborn,” Noah teases.

“Apparently he's exactly the same,” Ronan grumbles, “so I don't see much point.”

Adam looks thoughtful. “Well,” he says slowly, “he can kiss Blue now.” His mouth quirks up at one corner. “They got their happily ever after.” Blue makes a face at him, but Gansey is blushing.

“The universe doesn't work that way, Parrish,” Ronan scoffs.

Adam looks up at the golden leaves arcing overhead and winds his fingers through Ronan's. “Maybe sometimes it does.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is not at all what I want or expect to happen in/after TRK, but I just couldn't let the idea go. 
> 
> It pained me to write Rex Corvus when it really should be Rex Corvi or more likely Rex Corvine, but Rex Corvus really does sound better.  
>  _Gratias tibi ago_ means "thank you," and _Salve_ means "hello" but also "be well"
> 
> Find me on [tumblr](http://falsettofetish.tumblr.com) for more exciting Latin grammar and crying about Gansey


End file.
